Lonely Hearts

by Heidi Cullinan

  Baz stared at the TV, and as he watched the drag queen own the airwaves, the shard of a crazy idea formed in his mind. He went to his room to call Damien because he figured if anyone would tell him he was nuts, it was him.

  “It’s not nuts.” Damien laughed, a delicious, vindictive chuckle. “It’s genius. Evil genius.”

  “Seriously? You don’t think it would be inappropriate?”

  “How could it be? It’s an LGBT event. And yet it would be the last thing your mom’s focus groups would want to see.”

  “Would it reflect badly on the Ambassadors or Salvo, though? Because in my head, I’m going hard. If there aren’t gasps and shocked whispers, we’re doing it wrong.”

  “It’ll look like kids having fun, which is exactly what it’ll be. But if you’re worried, have that guy you work with help you. And his dancer husband.”

  Christ, Baz could only imagine the fun Ed and Laurie would have with this. “So you think I should go for it? Tell Aaron and Giles and Mina, and line it up?”

  “Yes, but only on one condition.”

  “And that is?”

  “You let Marius and I come along to do the number.”

  Baz grinned, the whole thing laying out beautifully in his mind’s eye. “I’m pretty sure it can be arranged.”

  Elijah didn’t know what in the hell his housemates were doing for the charity concert, only that everyone seemed to be in on the act except him. They were always having meetings in the practice room, usually punctuated by laughter and frantic, giggled protestations to shh. It also involved all of them—except Elijah—hauling ass into Saint Paul to some studio near Halcyon Center. They would tell Elijah exactly nothing, except you’ll see. Every single Ambassador was involved, and Salvo, as well as Marius and Damien for some reason no one would explain. Giles and Aaron had arranged the music, so of course they were both neck-deep. Lejla was in it too, somehow, which didn’t seem remotely fair. When Elijah found out even Brian was in on the gig though, he got pissed.

  “Don’t take it that way,” Brian urged him. “I only got involved because they need me for lights and tech. Baz wants to go without his glasses, which means a few precautions. I played with some different filters, and if he uses heavily tinted contacts and we make sure nothing’s too bright, he should be okay. I should be able to make it work.”

  “Make what work? Why won’t anybody tell me?”

  “Because Baz wants to surprise you.”

  That’s what they all kept telling him. Baz wants to surprise you.

  It was the only thing Elijah was looking forward to at the event. It was the same kind of fancy-pantsy deal as the horrible house party, except bigger and in a community center, not a house. The meal was fifty dollars a plate, choice of salmon, steak, gluten free or vegan option. The theme was rainbow with some more rainbow—tastefully done, each table a subtle shift in gradient, the decorations running the rainbow spectrum with a display of flowers. Elijah couldn’t help comparing it to Walter and Kelly’s actually gay wedding, which while cheesy at least had some personality.

  During dessert, there would be the presentation of a big cardboard check to the center directors. Salvo and the Ambassadors would perform to conclude the evening. No homeless LGBT kids would be in attendance, but Elijah wondered how many would be huddled against city Dumpsters that night, no meal option of any kind in sight.

  There were no place cards at this dinner, and he was able to sit with Kelly and Walter at a table near one of the reserved rounds at the front. To his relief, they didn’t know what the performance would be either.

  “All I know is it’s epic,” Kelly said. “Marius falls into bed every night. And keeps complaining about his calves.”

  “I’ve got my camera ready to video.” Walter patted his suit-coat pocket.

  There were plenty of cameras in the room, local press and a few national. Elijah was surprised, though, to see Susan, the U of M reporter Baz had introduced him to the other day. She waved at him when they made eye contact, then went back to setting up her team’s gear.

  Gloria presented the check, beaming as the spotlight made the silver sequins on her gown glitter. Once the ceremony was over, she milled around the room shaking hands and smiling while they waited for the show to start. She looked pleased, triumphant. Elijah thought he recognized a face here and there, which meant some of these people had come all the way from Chicago.

  Elijah hated how she was getting political capital from the backs of people who had so little. He hated that she had maneuvered Baz into performing for her. He knew they had some scheme, that the performance was supposed to put her in her place or something, but as he watched Gloria beam, Elijah didn’t have a lot of confidence.

  He did his best to make peace with it. His life was with Baz, which meant his life would include at least a little Gloria Barnett Acker. He told himself he could bide his time, get the lay of the land and figure out how to be a thorn in her side. Because she might have won this battle, but when the prize was Baz, there was no way he’d let her win the war.

  The lights went down, a hush fell over the room, and Elijah turned toward the stage with the others, ready to see what the fuss had been about.

  When the lights came up, they were subtle. The stage glowed more than it shone, and it was dotted with shadowed figures. Trench coats with the collars up and fedoras for the guys, and one of the girls—who in Salvo was that tall?—in full-on fuck-me heels and sex-kitten sequins in the center. All of them had their backs to the audience, and the lights cast them in shadow.

  Then the girl in the middle cocked a hip, shot an arm in the air—and Baz’s voice called out over the sound system, “You. Better. Work.”

  The lights went up the rest of the way, the trench coats fell. Everyone on stage turned around, and Elijah’s jaw fell into his lap.

  Baz. It was Baz in the fuck-me heels and dress.

  He was in full fucking drag, and the guys who’d shed the trench coats weren’t guys at all. They were the members of Salvo. As the girls beat-boxed, the rest of the Ambassadors sashayed onto the stage, looking like refugees from RuPaul’s Drag Race. Which was appropriate, because they were performing “Sissy That Walk”.

  Actually, it was a full-on mashup of RuPaul. The girls began in the sidelines, but when “Dance With U” started up, several of them stepped forward to merge with the Ambassadors, playing gallant gentlemen to the Ambassador’s sexy ladies. There were two extra Ambassadors, Elijah realized, and one spare Salvo member—Marius and Damien and Lejla. Marius, who’d been growing a beard, was working some serious Conchita Wurst. Damien had his glasses off and looked pretty damn fly. Lejla was very Victor-Victoria.

  Through it all, though, Baz was center stage. No glasses—the contacts were weird, and he’d have looked freakish in everyday wear, but in drag they worked pretty well. He wore a waist-length strawberry-blonde wig of artfully arranged curls, more eye makeup than he had eyes to put it on, and one hell of a rack. Because Elijah watched him the most, he noticed Baz was a little bit Cher, letting everyone else dance while he did subdued variations and largely belted out the melody line. The only time he didn’t was when he ground with Damien, Aaron or Marius, and when Lejla dirty danced in front of him during “Champion”.

  It was, to put it mildly, a fucking fabulous performance. It was fun and felt edgy without being controversial at all for an LGBT event. College kids in drag, grinding on each other and singing RuPaul. Who cared? A bit of harmless, topical fun.

  And yet.

  Not everyone in the audience felt that way. Yes, the room was full of liberals, but they were older, rich liberals, and only a handful were LGBT themselves. This wasn’t the polite, polished, poor little gay homeless kids sanitized rainbow they’d signed up for. Certainly no one had ordered up Damien and Marius making an obscene drag-queen sandwich out of Baz as he fanned himself in faux-overstimulation. Nobo
dy asked for Marius to fluff his breasts proudly as he bellowed the bass line.

  The best part, though, was the way Baz sang right to his mother during “Sissy That Walk”. Delivering the line about only caring about the opinions of people who pay your bills—which, technically, was Gloria. Baz sang the line right at her, as if to say, Go ahead. Cut me off and see if I care.

  When he sang the line about his pussy being on fire—using the word, not muffling it or bleeping it out—he looked Gloria in the eye, grabbed his crotch and told her to kiss the flame.

  Elijah laughed. And clapped, and whooped, and catcalled his heart out.

  As the last note rang, the stage full of performers struck a pose, lifted their chins and basked in their applause. It was decidedly choppy—some tables, like Elijah’s, whistled and shouted their approval. Some clapped more quietly, and a few individuals looked decidedly strained. Gloria Barnett Acker was one of them.

  Baz took the microphone, out of breath and smiling.

  “We’re so proud to be here tonight, raising money for the LGBT youth of the Twin Cities. Saint Timothy was given a stipend to bring us here, but we wanted you to know every penny is going directly to Avenues for Homeless Youth and the Halcyon Center, and after passing a hat around the music building, we’ll be adding a not entirely insignificant additional donation of our own.”

  He paused for applause. Two figures moved out front to stand at the edge of the stage and watch: Ed and Laurie. When Baz spoke next, his smile had faded, his expression serious.

  “The truth is, ladies and gentlemen, tonight in this very metropolitan area, possibly in the alley behind this building, young men and women not yet old enough to vote, maybe not even drive a car, are homeless and alone. Some were kicked out of their homes because they’re gay. Some left because it was too dangerous to stay. Some will find help at the community organizations you’re supporting tonight. Some won’t, because there are sadly more LGBT homeless youth than there are people willing to help. Some aren’t homeless but living in a different, equally awful kind of hell.”

  He indicated the line of Salvo and Ambassador members behind him. “We’re asking you to do more than write a check. Volunteer at your local centers. Give your time as well as your money. If you have space in your home, become a host home for Avenues and foster some of these youth, to show them love and acceptance in person. If you’re a member of a faith organization, ask them if they’re doing as much for the homeless youth of Minnesota and Illinois and Wisconsin and Iowa as they are for people hungry in faraway lands.”

  His gaze flashed like the flicker of a candle toward Elijah. “A lot of us know firsthand how difficult it is to grow up gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender. We know what it’s like to fear simply being yourself, to know that can be not only scary but dangerous. Life can be hard, and lonely, and cruel. But what we’ve learned by singing together, by being together, is when we face adversity together, we can overcome almost anything. You don’t have to put on drag and sing and dance to make a difference. You only have to open your hearts.”

  Replacing the mic, Baz stepped back into the line of performers. He hadn’t given them a clear indication he was done, and before they could fumble around to applause, the soft note of a pitch pipe cut through the silence. Damien, standing next to Baz, counted out quietly, “One, two, three, four.”

  The tenors and altos began to sing a chord, the goofy deh, deh, deh, deh they used to make background notes. Aaron riffed over the top of it, a lot of yeahs and hey-ey noises before launching into the first verse. Elijah recognized it right away because it was the only song of Baz’s favorite artist, Maino, that Elijah liked: “All The Above”. It was kind of a half rap, half R&B, with a guy singing falsetto between Maino rapping about surviving. How he’d been through pain and sorrow, how he’d experienced loss, been covered with scars, but he made it. He gave thanks for his struggles because they defined him.

  The song as it was recorded on the album had always given Elijah a slight thrill and a shiver of hope, but when he sat in the front of a rainbow room watching his boyfriend rap in drag about how no matter what happened to him, he would keep going, he would survive—Elijah was moved to his soul.

  It was more than an emotional moment. It was a connection. It was the song of anyone who had made it, who had been through hell and out the other side again. It was Elijah. And Baz, and Aaron, and Giles, and Lejla…it was everyone.

  I’m not outside. I’m inside. I’m included in that “all the above”. I don’t have to be on that stage singing with them. I am with them. I am them.

  I belong.

  I’m home.

  Elijah cried silently, wiping his tears away as discreetly as he could so he could keep watching. So he could see his boyfriend singing to him. Looking right at him, belting out that song for Elijah. For anyone who had survived, who was still working on getting through to the other side.

  When they finished, this time the room erupted. Walter and Kelly rose to their feet, whooping and calling out, and Elijah joined the chorus of joy. When Baz led the performers off the stage and into the audience, Elijah went into his lover’s embrace with his heart glowing hot and full inside him.

  He laughed when Baz pressed Elijah’s face into his cleavage.

  Walter and Kelly joined them, and Walter grabbed Baz’s head and kissed the side of his wig roughly. “One hell of a speech, Acker. Out of the fucking park.”

  Baz wrapped his arms around Elijah’s waist and swayed lightly as dance music began to filter through the speakers. “It started as me trying to get back at my mom. To show her up.” He glanced at the room, his expression serious again. “Then I realized she didn’t matter. Because all I could think was someone else’s Elijah is out on the streets tonight. Someone’s Aaron. Somewhere someone is getting smashed with a bat and they won’t have a rich uncle to find them super surgeons. All I cared about was driving the point home.” He glanced at Elijah, eyes naked and squinting, his emotions bared for the world in the dim ballroom light. “I hope I did okay.”

  Elijah held Baz’s face in his hands, stared into those beautiful, fragile brown eyes. Saw the heart shining through them—Baz’s huge, beautiful, perfect heart. “You were wonderful. You’re always wonderful.”

  Baz smiled at him, a bright, boyish beam firing straight into Elijah’s soul. Out of the corner of his eye he could see reporters coming their way, and Gloria’s staff, and half the goddamned event. Ignoring them all, Baz kissed Elijah. Right there in the middle of the charity ballroom, in full drag, while flashes popped around them.

  Focus group that, bitches, Elijah thought, and kissed him back with everything he had.

  Epilogue

  Sebastian Percival Acker graduated in a small mid-year ceremony on the sixteenth of December. It didn’t have the full pomp and circumstance of a May graduation, but that was okay with him. His friends were there, and Damien’s fiancée, who was graduating too. His favorite professors were all in attendance, as well as Ed and Laurie.

  His family came too. His mom and dad were there in the front row, cheering and clapping, and afterward they hugged him, told him they were proud. Then his mom pulled him aside and dropped a bombshell.

  “I told the Governor to remove my name from consideration for your uncle’s senate seat.”

  Baz did a double take. “You—what? Mom, why?” He took a good look at her face and got a bad feeling. “Do not say it’s because of me. I know you were mad about the Burnsville event—”

  She held up a hand to stop him as she shook her head. “It’s true, at first I was annoyed with you for the drag stunt. It wasn’t part of my plan or my vision, and I was sure you’d done it to get back at me. And then I started getting phone calls. Lots and lots of phone calls, and emails. People from all over the country, the world, saying they saw the viral video that university reporter posted of your performance and your speech. Telling m
e how they were taking action in their cities and states and countries. I can’t go anywhere now without someone telling me what a good job I did, what a wonderful cause I’ve championed.” She clasped his hands in hers, and her eyes got damp behind her eighty-dollar mascara. “But it wasn’t me who made that happen. That was you. You and your friends, but mostly you, Sebastian. You and your great big heart.”

  His great big heart swelled in his chest. “But why in the world is it making you quit?”

  “Because while I did care about the charities the event served, I was mostly thinking of myself. I wasn’t appointed to anything yet, and this was how my career was beginning. I’d told myself all these grand stories of how I’d be a better politician than my brother, than anyone else in Washington—and I failed before I arrived.” She wiped at her eyes with a handkerchief Baz’s dad passed her. “It made me open my eyes and reexamine everything, including admitting how much I’d already become part of the machine. I was never going to make the kind of difference I wanted. I was going to be exactly what the right-wing blogs said: a pawn to my brother and the party. That’s not the career I want. I’m making the announcement tomorrow I’m withdrawing my name to focus on my family.”

  Baz rolled his eyes. “They’re going to think you got caught having an affair.”

  Gloria pursed her lips. “It’s true. I’ve been focused on my own ambitions and my drive to live up to the Barnett name. I need to shift my priorities.”

  Baz would believe his mother would stay home and bake cookies and rub his dad’s feet after a long day of work when hell froze over. Though his parents were in the same room, touching each other without a camera aimed on them. Would they be June and Ward Cleaver? No. Could they be something else, though?